The Dreamworks
by Aldebaran 07
Summary: I, Devlin, live a relatively normal life in the 21st century. On a fun-filled trip to go cliff-jumping in the stunning gorges of Ithaca, New York, I find out that this adventure will change my life, and those of my friend's, forever. Self-insert.
1. Six Mile

**_A/N: Did the ending of the Mass Effect games disappoint you? Really enjoy the second, but hate the lack of real plot? Well look no further; I give you my debut of my first ever attempted self-insert story. Expect everything you've seen before and more with an original twist you won't soon forget. All you have to do is make it through the introduction, and the rest is Mass Effect goodness. I implore you to read further, and if you end up liking anything (or not for that matter) then please leave a review!_**

**_Cheers._**

*****Also, my friend and colleague has his own self-insert on here as well, take a look at _I, Shepard, _a story taking place during the events of the first Mass Effect where things get a little twisted. That is all!

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**-The Dreamworks-**

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Act I – Halcyon Daze

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_July 17, 2012_

Upstate New York is home to many things, good and bad- among them are the obvious. Rampantly corrupt politicians, a dysfunctional state legislature, and a deficit big enough to bail out Burundi tops the list of the latter. Still some think of the stretching farmlands, small cities and suburbs to be a place of ideal contentment where they can settle down and raise kids, others cynically think of my hometown- Binghamton; a cloudy city deep upstate, where everyone is medicated simply because of the incessantly bad weather. On the news only when the ACA gets shot up, or to be ranked as 'the fifth most depressing city in the entire country.'

Sometimes I think that's why we leave. Just to see the good side of things. The summer was always good for that, it was that rare time of year when the good list would pervade the bad so long as you let it. What tops the good list, then, you say?

One thing and one thing alone,

Cliff-jumping.

The five of us have been doing it every summer religiously for the past three years. Doug caught on the last year or so. It was something that could bring us all closer together just by being young, stupid, and free of responsibility for the day… something we were _really_ good at. We'd drive out in the early afternoon to the gorges of Ithaca forty five minutes away and have a blast at least once a week. I could only describe it by comparing it; take the best waterpark in the world and mix it with plenty of underage drinking, drinking in general, and festive barbequing, best not forget the occasional naked old person as well.

And so here we are doing it all again today.

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_1:24 p.m._

Being on the open road on a day like this was elating even from the backseat. I'd craved it all week- traveling the entire length on paved country roads, the tranquility, the life, all with not a cloud in the sky. It was like heading out to explore the open Midwest, an untapped reservoir of beauty to admire on the way to paradise.

Well, unless there was a ranger there to break up the fun already.

"Yo, Muck! Remember the last time you smoked out of this?" Dan chastises, sucking in from the pipe I decided to bring up. The car lights up with laughter, smoke swirling in the air, almost causing Matt to steer off the lane. "They don't call you 'puke n' shits Muck' for nothing…"

Doug looks up from his PSP and mutters something about "Muck-chucking", favoring Final Fantasy VII over getting stoned, and incites us all even further. My lungs hurt from laughing as I reminisce that priceless moment,

"Dude, it was like a pile of dinosaur shit! I had no idea a human being could do that…" I try to compose a serious face to take a healthy drag from the piece; there was nothing like smoking and jumping off cliffs. Less dangerous than alcohol, more interesting than nothing. The warm blanket-over-my-brain feeling of a good hit sweeps up my head into a wonderful buzz.

"Sierra had to come all the way from Tioga to get him out of his car-"

"Fuck you, Doug, that shit was laced!"

"That's what they all say. I think you just got your ass kicked by the incredibowl and don't want to admit it."

"Yeah, well, lemme see that…" He takes it from the other Dan and torches the entire remainder, only to gag and spit out bits of ash, everyone starts laughing again while he chokes. "Why didn't you tell me it was kicked?"

I jump in and time a perfect cliché "You never asked" as the Camaro makes a sharp turn into the townhouse area where we could hopefully find a parking spot.

"You think Maria's gonna be here?" Dan Worden asks me from the passenger's seat.

Right then I falter and misspell an entire word in a text to my mom. My heart rate went up, and I started to sweat under my tee shirt. Just hearing the name unnerved me from my happy high, in a good way. _Maria._ Before I can respond Dan Muck chimes in across from me,

"She better be! If she is that means Sarah will too… mmm… I need to hit that dude."

"Easy there speedracer."

"She's _so _hot though Devlin! Why haven't you hooked me up with her yet?"

"I barely know her…" I remark while I light up a cigarette.

"Dude, fuck it!"

Sometimes I didn't know whether Muck was an idiot when he was high or just a genius who talked a lot,

"We'll see." Matt eases the 'maro off the road and parks behind a massive line of cars that were posed the same way. We stretch and I clear the incredibowl out the window.

_1:41 p.m._

"Damn, it's bumpin' today," the lanky, curly-haired Dan remarked as we got out of the silver car all at once, squinting under the sun's blazing heat.

The mechanical 'click' of Matt locking the car marks the beginning of a new adventure on this sunny Saturday. Shirts go off, sunglasses go on and we grab all of our bags and coolers (full of absolutely vital essentials like munchies, beer, that sort of thing). Pristine townhouses with rustic brown siding dot the quiet street with neatly trimmed yards, a hint of lilacs and fresh cut grass kisses the humid air. All this is a humbled foreground for a truly inspiring sight- the majestic rolling hills of New York looming in the back- also at the top of the good list. An untamed stretch of land strictly protected that reveals a whole new world if you embrace it.

_Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints._ That's how I saw it.

With towels draped around our necks we walk between the townhouses, to the mouth of a well-used trail, around a rusted gate post and into the woods.

_1:55 p.m._

Everyone knows to ignore the severely dented metal sign you come across halfway there. There are only two rules, unwritten rules, when coming here to cliff-jump-

Take Imodium, drink a _lot _of water, and you'll be fine… unless you try climbing a shale wall.

I could hear the many voices of people at the First Dam before we even got there; splashing, hollering, a fuzzy radio plays with sonorous static in the background. We'd been walking for a while now, joking about how many cigarettes Dan was allowed to bum for the day. I study the pinholes of light at my feet created by the thick forest canopy while I walk the pebble-studded trail, cooler strap weighing painfully on my shoulder and my left corona flip-flop looked like it was about to go already. It was all worth it.

"Who do you think's here already?" Doug asks from behind me, "Well, besides everyone."

My stomach tightens up at the thought of Maria's presence here.

"I don't know, I guess most of the class of 2010, and some BCC kids," Muck says from the front of our group. He always had the low-down on what was happening- who was going to what party, what friend was having drama with another (usually over a girl, mind you, which happens to be Dan's own kryptonite). Muck is a socialite, a contrast to the soft spoken Doug. He's a kid who could be a billionaire if they had a job where you talk, talk, talk about absolutely nothing in particular. Incredibly talented and a borderline genius; we just have to get him to go back to school so he can realize it, instead of him telling us he is when he's piss drunk. _Speaking of which, that's a great idea._

As I round the trail's last haphazard turn, I dig through the cooler at my waist, pull out a Coors, and join the party. Matt runs down to the landing and up a side trail, to the forty footer- straight out of the gate- obviously not here to socialize the entire time; he was the craziest of us all, teaching us everything we know about flips and gainers. I turn my focus to the party.

It's a big one, and by big I mean at least seventy-five people crammed into a landing meant for thirty, with people jumping off of varying ledges on both sides of the water. A bonfire raging midday, two fired-up grills, attractively oiled girls laying out catching the sun, people swimming, jumping, _what a great fucking time._ Out to the left is a sparkling pond large enough to be considered a lake, nothing but large waterfowl skimming its tranquil surface on their flights across.. the real action was _here. _Off to the immediate right is the dammed drop to the waterfall, kids line the ledge and swim around it.

People we know see us; old friends from highschool, new friends from college, I hear my name shouted.

As it pleasantly turned out – I knew over half of the people here. It was nothing short of a post-semester reunion, _and do I spy a keg chillin' over there? Damn._ I set down the cooler to walk around the sunny bluff with beer in hand and embrace with others. The only good part about sticking around a shitty town for so long is that you end up with deep roots there, and that comes with good friends, or at least you can hope.

Still, it didn't look like Maria ended up coming. I feel a mix of disappointment and relief,

_Fuck it, now I can jump all day._

But then I see a flicker of motion, someone climbing the 'shortcut' under the mini waterfall on the near right to get back onto the bluff. A girl, _damn, _I think to myself as I realize I have no clue who she was- but she definitely wasn't ugly. Then another girl emerges, clad in a tight black bikini, tall, tan, markedly Italian features complete her delicate face. The second her eyes opened up to me, to the world, it was like the entire party was redacted into a flash photo-shoot for a swimsuit model edition of a magazine, and my eyes were the camera lens as they met hers. Warm brown eyes that change with the seasons, just like mine, but even in the winter it's like they could melt snow. I'm frozen in my place with a lump in my throat the size of a pocket-watch; I should have known she was here…

"Devlin!"

My heart wanted to stop, but I said no. I get past my surging emotions enough to approach her, yelling out in greeting. She moves in for a hug and we collide into a tactile heaven that sends shivers ebbing through my spine. The wet of her body touching mine, her supple skin pressing into me, the distant remainder of some exorbitantly expensive perfume lingering on her neck. It would be stupid to say I wanted her, but more appropriately I should be saying how far out of my league she is. She was in her own.

"It's been way too long! You should've texted me yesterday, we went to the Belmar for taco night. It was great!" Her gentle voice tries to shirk off an inevitable accent- but it just makes her that much more attractive.

"Ah I bet it was! I'm sad I didn't go."

"Yeah you bum! How was the ride up?"

"Good, kinda long though, what about you?" _Really? That's all you got? Swag on her, don't bore her to death._ _Don't stare at her tits either._

So I nervously chat with her, mostly idle banter, and find myself stumbling over words like I was drunk already. She remains perfectly affluent. It was obvious I needed to bail and drink something, so I come up with some bullshit excuse about really wanting to jump for a little while. She was happy to see me and I could see disappointment line her smile, since she didn't like the bigger cliffs,

"Oh, okay. Well we should hang out on the dam a little bit later! Wanna?" How the hell could I refuse?

"Of course! You know where to find me," I smile back at her and head off toward the closest person that looked like Matt.

_2:57 p.m._

I dive off of a small ten foot stone bluff and into the water. At this time of year it's perfect in temperature. Comforting and chilling. Sobering. Refreshing. Completely blue-green with algae yet nevertheless this place is my favorite swimming pool of all time. I float on my back for what seemed like minutes and let the sun dry water off my stomach, watching Matt do a flawless gainer off of the jump tower. Cooled off and still in the mood to party, I use the divots in the side of the shale bluff to climb up and back onto solid land, careful not to cut my feet.

That's when I catch her staring from across the landing, intent on me. I should talk to her soon.

After four games of bp against old high school buddies like Brian and Travis Heenehan- who began slap-boxing the shit out of each other when they lost- I find myself suddenly shitfaced. Things start getting a little blurry.

_That means it's time to jump again._

I wander off on my own up the side trail, juggling the idea of which jump site to go to…

I grab a Rolling Rock 16 oz. from my cooler and settle for the sixty. Hadn't done it all day.

That's when I met Dan up at the vacant jump point. He's rolling up a j in his mostly dried lap, apparently at the same level of hammered I was; when you start walking around by yourself. I sit down on a rock next to him and let the sun dry me off.

"So how's Maria?"

"I don't know man, I shouldn't have smoked on the way up."

"Why's that?"

"I'm getting nervous. I know exactly what I want to say one moment and the next it's like 'wait what the fuck was I going to say?'" Dan laughs, almost spilling the weed on his lap.

"Screw it man, that happens to me all the time. You guys been talkin' a lot?" He lights up, that familiar smell rushing to me.

"Yeah, kind of. We text just about every day, and I've been on a few double dates with Doug since class ended. Still…" I knew her. Pretty well, actually. We had been friends since the start of the fall semester.

I wanted it to be more than what it was, and the thing that was killing me was wondering if it could ever work both ways as a mutual feeling, or if I was just in the most epic friend-zone slot in the world.

"Dude I wouldn't worry about it.. she's into you. I can tell." He passes it my way but I wave it off.

"Even if you don't want to go for her yet, invite her to Alex's tonight. It'll do you and Muck a favor."

"I guess you're right boss," I pause and lament for a time, "Let's get fucked up," I get my index finger under the ring on the beer and hear the faint fizz of carbonation-

"Nah, dude, wait! Shotgun this shit with me," he picks up a tallboy sitting at his feet and gets a stick off the dusty ground, a devilish grin appearing on his otherwise kind face. I always loved the way this kid thinks.

I create an air bubble underneath the green aluminum can and stand up with Dan.

We do an ancient high school chant and stab straight through our beers, feasting on the rapidly gushing alcohol like a feral animal destroying its prey. Speed was the key though, or else you're just wasting it. Gulping down the toxic fluid was easier now that I was already drunk, but getting all sixteen ounces down was no small feat of strength. The foam still pours from the sides of my mouth. I nod at him as he finishes his, my stomach aching in protest for a moment at the influx of alcohol.

"Jump?"

"You read my fuckin' mind."

Without speaking any further, I slip into the mind state of pre-jump, taking three steps back. My body tightens up. Senses reach a new state of heightened. I stretch out my muscles and breathe in a deep cleansing breath to try to wring the tension and nerves from my body. I see the people below me on the landing to my bottom left, the infamous Gabe Kahn doing a keg stand, my friends mingling with others, they all blur out and become nothing to me. The wind picks up, an invisible signal,

I jump.

Bridge of my foot landing perfectly on the crease of the cliff's edge, I thrust out and spin backwards into a slow progressing gainer. My eyes are open but I don't see anything, only blurs, colors obscured by excitement. My adrenaline spikes into a drug-supported euphoria. I hoped Maria was watching just as much as I hoped I could pull it off, but I've been filmed doing this shit before, I knew I had it in the bag; I just _always_ had the right dynamic on this jump. The 40 was a different story.

The wind hugs my body and streaks freely through my hair, but abruptly stops as I plunge into the water at over fifty miles an hour. My body shoots down three meters. Pressure starts to squeeze my head. On this jump however, I feel something curious stir amidst the cloudy waters- a far off pull as if there was a Jetstream somewhere. Buzzed enough at this point, I break away from the natural rise to the surface and open my eyes. Curious, indeed; a faint blue light brimming with suppressed effervescence due to the water. I've never opened my eyes underwater here before. Definitely murkier than I expected, _but has that light always been there? _A total anomaly. An enigma. I move toward it.

The pull was coming from the light. Distant at first, then it gets stronger and resilient, resolving itself into a glowing orb once I get close enough, stark white at the center. I thought I had plenty of lung capacity still and could reach it but as I swim it doesn't get closer. Panic rises to my throat when I realize there might be a chance I couldn't get back up, and then I can feel it- it becomes aggressive and forceful, it sucks me in with its tide.

_Shit, fuck, shit! _I desperately try to recall what Matt told me to do when caught in a riptide.

I can't shake it. Twisting and turning like trying to get out of an Alligator's bite doesn't do anything.

Panic rises with bile up my throat, my stomach feels sick. With no other option except drown, I embrace the light and use the last of my waning energy to move with the flow. Almost out of air now. The violent force the orb exerts jerks my limbs around like I wasn't completely submerged in a liquid.

Then, everything stops.

An unfathomable calm sweeps in around me. I hear it, smell it, taste it, see it- the same white as the inside of the light. I am consumed.

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The view from up here, wherever here was, is nothing shy of magnanimous. None of it was what I expected to happen. This place… heaven or hell couldn't be used in its description for it eludes all but the most obvious contemplation. An infinite twilight. Irreprehensible. Omnipotent. Color tinted clouds whiz by like a fast-forwarded movie clip. But they don't stop- sky above and sky below. I am suspended, free of earthly limitations or any binding law of physics. Suspended in animation one might call it, though I am not suspended indefinitely. I am vibrating ceaselessly, in color, in sound, like I exist but my being is fighting to remain in solidarity. Like some kind of unstable electron cloud; never giving the impression of movement yet never remaining in a single place. There was no doubt in my mind that I had to be dreaming, lucid or not, this was beyond supernatural- it transcended everything I thought I knew.

In my hand is a ticket, like one of those old style carnival ones. It is completely blank.

I turn it over in my hand, still devoid of any printed number or design. Suddenly, from all around me, an old voice resonates in a tone both pure and wise, as infinite as the surrounding sky,

"You."

The booming voice resounds back to the thousands of origins it came from. It completely catches me off guard, rattling my insides with an apprehensive fearfulness. Woah.

"Um… yes?" I croak meekly. "What do you want?" I assume I am at this voice's mercy.

"You, are here for a reason."

_I'm dreaming. I don't have to be afraid. _I gather courage,

"And what is that?" My words fall flat and weak in this ethereal dreamscape. How could I even be heard?

"In your hands is your future," the deafening voice is slow in its progression of words. "One choice. Any number of destinies."

"It's… a ticket," I reply, confusion overriding my reason. _What the fuck is a ticket going to do for me?_

"It is a blank ticket. You received it upon birth, and are now presented with it."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Everything. But that does not matter, what does is the question you are ultimately here to answer."

"What question?" Part of my consciousness feels scary real, but I've had visceral dreams like this before. I've mistaken dreams for reality on multiple accounts. Maybe I blacked out and never jumped off anything.

"Stay where you are and have always been, or leave? Quite simple, really."

_Does this mean I didn't die?_ Still, what a vague question to ask. Since I was obviously dreaming, why not have a little fun…

"Leave."

The infinite sky sounded as if it tore itself apart with the entity's laughter at that moment.

"Very well."

Goosebumps crawl to the surface of my skin with the anticipation of this event. The vibrating intensifies, the shell of my physical self disperses further. I go numb except for my brain. Slight tingling accompanies the strange sensation… and then… I exhale as relaxed as can be. The calm hits me then.

I am consumed.

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Atom by atom I materialize in darkness. I hear echoing sounds. A foreign scent passes through my nose.

_Fuck_. Gravity was back… and I was now naked, standing on nothing but air.

The rough fall is marked by me slamming onto the stone ground with a bone-cracking _thud!_ On the floor curled up in my own ineptitude, my senses rush back, clear consciousness. I mutter something even I can't understand, _now where the hell could I possibly be now? Looks like it's one dream to another._ Wincing past my would-be injuries from impact I see steady light pouring in where I was; some shallow grotto where the rock is all a permutation of red-orange and everything is laden with fine dirt particles. Even in the shade it felt like it should be a lot cooler than it was.

I stumble to my feet, relying on kinesthetic movement to feel my way around. My vision is notably hazy as if I was still drunk, but I knew I couldn't be since I _had _to be sleeping. There is no other explanation.

A rank odor fills my senses, like a mix of volatile burning petro fuels, just even dirtier. Yuck.

That's when I torpidly stagger outside- the worst decision I could have made. My skin burns with radiation and scorching heat the moment I leave the sanctity of the tiny cavern.

"OWWW! Holy shit! OUCH!" I scramble back inside as quickly as I can, enduring a passing sensation of pain that almost crippled me. Before running back inside, I saw the sun, red and unabashed, mostly eclipsed by a bizarre shroud with a smaller circumference. Radiation bleeds from it like a visible aura.

_Damn…_ I wonder to myself; minutes of exposure out there would kill anyone.

So it seemed as if I "teleported" into a dystopian Earth. Some bleak distant future of ours. I had always loved sci-fi movies and novels, but a dream _this_ real I would have to pass up. I position myself in various places to get a better look at the blindingly bright outside- a scorched wasteland of salt flats lay on the leftmost horizon, on the right is the remainder of a cityscape that juts haphazardly out of its own urban decay. Advanced, but tasteless, as if the technology here outgrew the culture exponentially. The dismal scene just hangs there, lifeless, not a single indicator that anyone even lived in it anymore.

That's when it hit me,

I still feel drunk.

Consciousness peaking now, I look down at my bareness and frantically grip myself everywhere, feeling my presence, my perspiring skin. I taste my sweat. I slap myself in the face once, two, three times. Any cue I used to do while having a dream like this wouldn't work or snap me out of it. Pulling my hair out doesn't do anything but exacerbate me. _No. There's no way it could- no. No. Just no._

I grow incredulous and take a swing at the cave wall. I would regret that decision later, but with my adrenaline skyrocketing right now it didn't mean a thing. I pace back and forth through the small but spacious den, hundreds of tiny beads of sweat cover my body. My heart rate goes up as I breathe more and more heavily. I'm inconsolable…

I'm not dreaming.


	2. Afterburn

_April 8__th__, 2185_

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"Ignitions are aligned with the drive core, aft pull is just below four-k and the afterburners are silent. We're free of Tuchanka's atmosphere, Commander."

"Good work, Joker. Don't sound _too_ upset we're leaving." An armored man stands in the doorway to the ultramodern warship's bridge, arms crossed, his face partially silhouetted by poor lighting. Even when casually leaned against the wide frame his figure demands undivided respect.

"Oh, no, no," the pilot remarks with unmasked sarcasm while he flips through selected holo screens, "I'm bringing my kids here later on. We can play in the radioactive rubble or even pick some man-eating flowers. Imagine all that posterity." He appears to be singlehandedly flying the polished starship all by himself.

"Sounds like a vacation," the stoic figure replies, still obscured by the dim lights, but a smile creases his lips. There is a weight about this man, heavier than the greatest of earth-shattering events that have come and gone in the galaxy. Heavier than the most profound, collectively life changing epics ever written. Just one glance tells you that he bears a weight no normal man could bear without being consumed in their own incapacity. Good thing he is nowhere near normal.

"Yeah, but what's posterity without austerity? I'd never dream of having kids, you know me enough by now_,_" he chuckled.

"That's why I didn't say anything."

He shifts for a moment, catching a glint of light on his armor that runs all the way past his dark chest-plate, 'N7' insignia briefly illuminated. The rank holds with it a pride achieved only by the most dedicated humans- where simply reaching N1 deserves a celebration- and his feats of accomplishment do not stop there.

You're looking at the first human Spectre in the galaxy. Once dead, twice living. An icon among icons..

You're looking at Commander Shepard.

Just as he turns to leave the cockpit a circular blue entity pops up to Joker's left. It glows with self-projected lighting that constantly ebbs and flows with artificiality,

"Shepard, I have detected an anomaly that has spontaneously appeared on Tuchanka's surface while doing a routine groundscan. Such occurrences don't happen often and are considered incredibly rare. My data suggests sending a probe for a fly-by; the choice is yours." 'Her' voice is highly synthesized, but still has striking human qualities due to one-of-a-kind personality imprints.

Caught mid-step, he turns back around as if the Artificial Intelligence was a real person he's talking to,

"Any vital signs?"

"Yes, one. It could easily be aboard a jettisoned spacecraft that dodged our short range scanners-"

"Or it's a bunch of space poo," Joker interjects.

"Mr. Moreau, the likelihood of fecal matter appearing on a scan is at a ratio of 0.001:1,000,000."

"Ugh, just be quiet, EDI. I'm sure it's some lost slave boy scared out of his wits."

"It should also be noted that this life sign is within the terminator zone of the Shroud. Temperatures are in excess of sixty-five degrees Celsius. If exposed, it will die within fifteen minutes without proper resources."

"Shut…up…"

The AI remains silent as Shepard weighs his options for a moment,

"There's no time. We need Okeer- set a course to Korlus, it'll give the crew a day's rest and we can keep moving steady."

"Aye, aye."

"Understood, Shepard. Also, Mordin would like to speak with you given the chance."

"Thanks, EDI." The AI vanishes into an envelope of static.

Without wasting any more time, he turns around and walks down the crew bridge toward the Tech Labs.

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I scream, scream my lungs out until tears force themselves out of my eyes and down my dirtied cheeks,

they echo off the cave's walls and out towards the horizon.

I scream until there's nothing left to scream, no curse word left unused.

I scream because I'm lost forever.

It lasted for what seemed like hours, my lapse of control or reason… my ultimatum. It only lasted for fifteen minutes. This land was dead; there was no one to hear my despair. I silently weep. I don't know for how long, but during his time I feel a sorrowful melancholy take over.

And that's when I go into shock, this crippling sensation of incapability, motor skills and thought process, ambition. My body simply couldn't deal with the change, who could? I sit enfeebled at the corner edge of the cave's entrance and blankly stare out at the pale salmon blushed sky, smog hazing out all but the most pronounced clouds. No matter how hard I try to reason to move, I am struck with even more intense tingling and swallowing anxiety. I can't.

Hope is at a loss.

I watch the sky, hidden from the sun's punishing heat for hours until it slowly collapses into a muted sunset. The temperature drop is steady as I gaze outward.. there wasn't a sign of movement, just the weak stir of the dry wind every twenty minutes or so-but then I see something. A streak of light coming from the steel jungle that flies up and into the sky like a.. space ship? It vanishes into the atmosphere. In that moment I yearn to be on that ship… whatever it was… it was going somewhere better than here. Somewhere far away.

… And then the overwhelming tingling that has me crippled begins to subside. Lights flicker on in the distant buildings; a city I once thought of as derelict and destroyed now comes alive before me to prove me wrong.

Thirst. It slowly pulls me out of shock and back to my senses.

_So this _is_ the future. Jesus Christ._

I'd have to choke down my panic-stricken worry for now, because I had to start making moves.

Once the sun was completely gone I would venture out into the night, but for now I used the dim light to look around the grotto for anything of use. I could see something at the furthest corner now that my eyes had some degree of night vision, black or dark green, a case I'd speculate and I couldn't deny its familiarity. A flicker of hope sparked in the pit of my stomach, hanging by a string… I move closer.

It's my cooler.

"Yes!" I shouted with relief… _as long as there's something in it._ There was.

Everything I packed was in it (what I hadn't eaten, anyway), and is still partly cold after seven odd hours of being here. A ziplocked chicken sandwich, a Clif bar, a rung of five Rolling Rock tallboys, a partially consumed bottle of smart-water- and the ice might've been the most refreshing thing of them all; the hope inside me blooms. I dig through the ice and find something else- my hat. It was my grandfather's snapback that I had worn with me on the trip up to Ithaca. Aside from myself how any of this got here is completely beyond my comprehension. Was this all God's punishment for me not believing in Him? Or is this all an elaborate scheme for something I don't know yet?

Memories of my life go through my head and with them, everyone I know.. or knew. I missed them already. I scoop my hat through the ice and put it on my head. Water immediately runs down my face. It feels beyond great to be cool again. But upon closing the cooler's lid, I catch a piece of paper or something like it fluttering around in the air. It is the ticket, bending with the draft of the more active evening winds.

I grasp in it in my left hand as gently as I could, fearing ethereal reprimand if I marred its delicate shape.

This time it has something on it, a stamped series of numbers:

_**01007.**_

Curious.

I sit at the entrance of the cave and eat the sandwich, finding myself admiring the last of the evening's sunset in its fading colors of purple and pinkish red; it has truth to it amidst my troubled presence here- a set beginning with an end. Thinking of its cyclic nature helps ground me. The false sense of security provided by food doesn't hurt, either. I wash it down with most of the water.

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_Moments later…_

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The last ray of sun slips below the horizon. Now was my chance to hit the wasteland.

Aside from the grueling anxiety and thoughts running rampant through my head, I feel better, never thinking chicken, lettuce, bread and mayo could embolden me like this. I have to get out there. Maybe someone I know is here, or someone who won't want to shoot some naked kid. _Someone._

I pick up the cooler by the strap and heft it over my bare shoulder, about to head outside again.

How hard could it be to survive out there? I've beaten almost every Fallout there is and read through a couple zombie survival guides in my day, that and with my Clif bar and secret cooler I was a little like Bear Grylls, meets Survivorman, meets… Fallout New Vegas? I can make a fire, make traps, what's the worst that can happen, starve to death? Get mauled by a mutated predator?

_Yeah, actually._ But as it turns out, that's going to be the least of my worries…

I hear something once I start to step out. A faint ruckus, constant among the rise and fall of the early night breeze.

Grunting, clanging, metal scraping metal, I hone in on the sound of machines. It's coming from off to the right just past the nearby twisted tail-end of the city outskirts; sounds that are foreign to me but easily recognizable. Almost dropping the cooler at the sight of hulking figures off in the near distance, I scramble back inside out of overriding fear- those guys looked _big_. Formidable. It isn't enough to describe how scared I am when I see them and their towering war vehicles. _Well, that's just great…_

I hide away in the darkest reaches of the cave and stare out. _This is a bit ironic isn't it?_

They sound as if they're after something, huffing and gruffing in their guttural tongue over the churning of tire treads and engines. None of it sounds human in the least bit. Nothing _here _is human. The feeling permeates everything I see or touch. And then I see them,

_Oh… my… God…. _My mouth is agape in bizarre wonder.

Massive bipeds, armed and armored to the core, pass by at feverish paces. They're freaking _huge_. At least seven or eight feet tall, even despite their obvious hunchbacked look. I can understand bits of the things they shout now but there's no way they are remotely human beings…

Tenebrous light from a far behind vehicle gives me a good look at the closest one passing; what parts of its body that isn't covered in excessive amounts of armor shows off its scaly patterned hide. It has seemingly wide-set eyes that look lifeless at this distance- beady like a shark's; cold, calculating, but red. _I'm so screwed if they have better night vision than I do._ Their bulky frames that could easily weigh over a ton make their legs look almost small in comparison, even with a lot of protection.

_Fucking lizard-men! _This is absolutely incredible, and unnerving. Even some of the weapons are taller than me.

I didn't move a muscle, whether it was voluntary or involuntary I couldn't be sure. Their 240 vision (like deer or other common prey) made me uncomfortable because they're all looking partly at in my direction while they go by… but I know something other than their presence was holding me back for I could sense danger and fear- even from these lizard guys. The shouting picks up…

My fears do not go unfounded- right then, a cannon booms off in the direction the humanoids came from. I shield my ears with my hands from more ear shattering sounds. An unseen enemy to the left abruptly lights up their presence with small arms fire. All the tracers look like lasers as they whiz by.

Reptilian creatures taken aback by the greeting of gunshots, they scramble to makeshift positions and return fire. Some kind of electric shielding protects them from the bullets. Primitive looking vehicles of all sizes like overly-masculine dredging machines (with huge guns) creak to the front and act as cover and fire support… the wasteland turns into a full scale war in a few seconds. Just like that. I maneuver in the darkness of the cave around to the right side to see the enemy they are facing…

More lizard-men. Accompanying them are smaller more benign creatures that make up for their shorter numbers. They have one machine, reminiscent of an oversized dump truck, engaging in the same basic strategy.

It's a contested open-ground engagement. I watch it all from the comfort of the unnoticed cave, praying all the while not to be seen by anything- this land is beyond hostile. It's hostile by nature. These beings fight like it's a normal occurrence. Come to think of it it probably happens on a regular basis.

It was when I reached for my bottle of water and brought it to my lips when I realize I made a mistake. One of them turns toward my direction. Lips still on the now empty bottle, I subtilize myself and freeze. _Is it looking right at me?_

_Fuck. _It waves over another with similar grey armor plating its body. They head straight towards me.

_No, no, no.. no… no, NO._ I shrink into the very back and close my eyes like a child. I want to be invisible.

_This would be a great time to wake up…_

They shine a light in my face from of their long guns. My hands are in the air before they can even see me; I knew better than to even think about absquatulating with these "men" here. I relax my tensed body after I realize they aren't going to shoot me,

"Identify yourself, human!" The lead being commands. I notice his back hump is considerably taller than the other's, who stood less than patiently behind him.

"I… I… m- I- my na-"

"Speak! There is no time for talk."

"I- I'm D-Devlin.." my voice is a higher pitch than it usually is. I must look pathetic to them as they scrutinize me.

"Do you know where you are?" The question caught me unexpectedly, could it see my confusion?

My mouth refuses to work.

"Probably just a slave left here to die, Garr. We should go and fight."

"Be quiet, Varduk! This human should not be here. He should not be alive all the way out in the Unshrouded lands. Even krogan avoid it," it turns to face me again, "Speak plainly, human: are you a trap set by those Jurdon scum, or not?" If they are "krogan" then their name lives up to their outward toughness. It fits.

But Jurdon? Sounded like some cheesy alien Star Trek race.

"N-no…" I try to steady my voice, nerves get the better of me anyway.

"Then you will fight to survive." He nods at his subordinate,

"But… Garr… a _human_ with us? I am not blind to change, b-" it gets violently head-butted by the other's thick head ridge and stumbles,

"But nothing." The other one leaves in defeat. My stomach sinks like the heaviest weight in the sea at the thought of fighting against aliens like this…

"I am Garrmarek, Scout Leader of the Shreshoc Clanless. If another clan of krogan had come upon you sooner, you would not be as lucky as you are."

"Th-thank, you," I manage, completely numb. Explosions whistle just outside the cave entrance.

"Do not 'thank' me. Your petty customs fall short here on Tuchanka."

"Tu… chanka?" _So that's where I am. _A completely devolved earth by a different name. Garrmarek sighs before he replies,

"Our once glorious homeworld. It has made us hard, unlike you."

The other "scout" comes back in with a weapon. He tosses the futuristic assault rifle at me, _some Star Wars shit,_ I think to myself as I catch it and examine the pitted and scarred outside. 'Shit' is right. I hope it even works.

"His hands are small and weak, like the vorcha. I gave him what they would use."

A bandolier of strange cylindrical ammo is also given to me. I sling it over my shoulder,

"I will fight, but… d-don't I need some sort of protection?" I wouldn't last a second naked like this, forget the fact that I've never shot anything but a coffee can with a .22.

"Ah! You humans…" the lead Scout roars, "Always have to cover up your softness." He cranes his neck to the left and right, switches something on his weapon, turns around and charges back into the fight. Meanwhile, I muster up some needed courage and ask the remaining krogan how I could understand them. He bluntly explains how cross-species translators are used, which opens up new revelations to me: could this be just one of thousands of planets with another species on them? I _knew_ there was life out there, but for the galaxy to be this rich in it… that's really something else. The krogan tells me I am "strange". It dawns on me that I might very well be the only human on this planet.

Garrmarek returns with a scantily armored carcass clutched in his right hand, smeared with its blood- one of those smaller creatures that fought with the enemy krogan. It looks like a human-sized bat with no wings and _really _fucked up teeth. He throws it to my feet. Just the sight of it makes me want to vomit, but when I catch a whiff of the dead corpse I can start to taste my food again…

"There's your 'protection'. Now- we fight!" The pair of krogan leave and rejoin the battle, a little too eagerly I'd say.

I needed to collect my wits, and suit up despite the fact that I really want to pressure wash it first.

Either way, things just took a turn, for better or worse I am about to find out…

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A/N: By now I'm guessing you all can tell that "I" have no knowledge of the Mass Effect series/universe. This is an intended consequence of my ever-so-slightly altered 21st century reality that will give the story its own fresh perspective and judgment of things that might not be made by people familiar with the games. It also serves another purpose that will be revealed much later on. I hope you have all enjoyed reading thus far, and please, leave a review! Anonymous reviews are also strongly encouraged. Until we meet again…


	3. Still Dreaming

By the time I got out of the cave what I saw in front of me stopped me cold.

_War never _really_ does change, does it?_

The smoke-chugging machinations had dug rudimentary trenches in the arid ground, makeshift bulkheads had been set up by krogan toting engineering equipment, and now the fighting reached its peak. Bodies were littered about. Mingled with them, an abundance of odd yellow-orange fluid covered the scorched battlefield- something akin to krogan blood. Standing there overanalyzing the scenario granted a free headshot by countless enemy sharpshooters, but somehow, I stood untouched in a fleeting web of bright gunfire.

I couldn't even help it. I felt like I was going into shock… again… then something tapped against my still naked foot,

_Beep! Beep! _The sound makes reality reel itself in to me_ …_What the-?

"GET DOWN." A voice bellows from behind, sweeping me off the ground like a seed in the wind. A blur of colored motion flicks my gaze as I am wrapped in a deadly armored embrace, like getting hugged by a metal bear. Whatever had rolled to my feet explodes within two seconds. I feel the heat behind me. All wind has escaped my lungs before my unknown guardian throws me into the dirt so he wouldn't crush me indefinitely on his way down.

The rugged armor covering half of me presses uncomfortably when I land and roll a few meters, face to the darkening sky with the wind knocked out of me. I desperately gasp in for air while leaning upwards- I'm behind a flimsy cover setup and can foggily see my krogan compatriot, who if he wasn't there, I'd be dead. Really dead. He is scarred and brutal like the others around us, but slightly smaller in build, and perhaps younger. Getting back to his feet in an adjacent cover position I see that he's unharmed- good. _This is exactly why I didn't join the military._ I get up and press my back to cover.

With my rusted-out weapon clutched desperately to my chest, protected by nothing more than leathery straps bound by sloppy metalloid plating, I get up to briefly reconnoiter the field. It's nothing more than brutish trench warfare- two sides and an impossible kill zone separating the two. The only things threatening me are nearby stray shots that rarely make it within a few feet.

I use the vehicular floodlights from both factions to see the enemy. Something like ten yards away. Twenty-five at best which means we had them outmatched. It doesn't matter-

The thought of fighting _anyone_ with a weapon, let alone menacing aliens, scares the living piss out of me. They're clad in black armor which just makes them even more intimidating.

I peek up again. Within a fraction of a second a round dings right off of the metal protecting me and sends me cowering back down to safety. Just when I think I can't catch a break, the feeling hits me. The adrenaline. Fear and shock is relieved by it, my senses are ultra-heightened. My finger curls around the trigger,

_Click._

I look like an idiot as I stand there without a magazine in my gun. I scramble to reload still on my feet,

"HA! Stupid human. You should have stayed in your cave," a krogan shouts from behind me (I'd say it was Varduk but so far they all look pretty ambiguous to me).

_I probably should have._ The fact that a small scale war broke out just outside of my refuge is just unfortunate happenstance… I don't let it discourage me, even if it takes me near twenty seconds to reload the high tech piece of junk. I pull the trigger again when I ease the rifle butt to the coziest spot against my shoulder- I aim right at the nearest enemy krogan to me. A bright blue muzzle flash warms my face; the kickback is incredible, like they aren't the "laser" guns I was expecting at all. Maybe it was just fancy bullets? Superheated metal? Plasma? The volleys of gunshots look as if they could be anything. Peering down the dirty sights proves useless when the recoil makes it hard to hit anything at all, even a hard-to-miss target like these walking tanks. _Shit. _Combat is so much more intense than it looks, even the most realistic videogame FPS can't capture the raw essence that transcends semantics- one must experience it to ever know it exists. I am in a hyper-conscious state where a mix of dread and excitement keep me wide eyed and extremely focused on _anything_ that moved. I can feel part of me relish in this raw implantation of intrigue in a once normal existence…

Existence is too short not to experience something that can make you feel this alive.

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One of the smaller vehicles blew up. It claimed a few krogan, but I'm alive and that's all I wanted.

I was still at the same bulkhead as before, taking poorly executed bursts at the enemy cover line. Wreaking havoc on my ammunition supply yet not bagging a single kill with my trembling hands. The vorcha were too hard to hit; the krogan were too hard to kill. I drew a good amount of fire though, and it was just a matter of time until I got burnt for it.

Something plinked off a metal pillar jutting above the ground above my head. I ignore it and fire away,

_Beep! Beep! _I turn my head to find the painfully familiar oblong shaped device rolling by me with its ominous red blink.

_You've got to be fucking kidding me…_

Without thinking it through I dive onto the grenade like something out of a movie. I know it's a gamble, and if I lose, well.. there goes my arm. With a couple frantic grabs at the object I finally heft it in my hands and using every last ounce of strength in my left arm- I heave it in the direction of the enemy line.

Being way too curious for my own good, I poke my head up again and watch a sizeable explosion conflagrate and vanish in the wake of a bunch of frantic yelling. I may have hit their vehicle (which is impervious to small arms),

_Not too shabby._ Bear Grylls doesn't have shit on this.

I use this false idea of momentum to keep up the fight, despite my winded condition and the fact that my asthma is now creeping up on me to kick my ass soon. Deciding to remain in the same cover is probably one of my worst errors of judgment, but I'm glued to it. Strategy is a foreign word to me.

A huge explosion to my back right- where I last saw the krogan who saved me- blows a massive crater into the ground. The visible concussive blast sends me reeling into a farther down bulkhead where I tumble into more of my temporary allies, majority of my entire body covered in dirt now as I frantically clutch my body. No life threatening injuries, _but I don't feel any pain at all._ Anything; my adrenaline must be peaking.

One of the Clanless stands me on my feet with ease. Like I'm a pup to a fully grown lion, well, the size proportion is almost right. As I aim back down the sights I see something unsettling that makes me stand still: a krogan illuminated by their side's now immobile vehicle drops his weapon and enters a fit of what looked to be far beyond anger. It's rage. Even from fifteen yards I see he is ravaged with bullet holes and mangled flesh that drips orange fluid down his bulky frame. Any man would be dead ten times over by now.

Then the krogan charged. Something I never wanted to see in my entire life.

I do what any logical person would do and break formation to get the hell out- a thickly armored forearm bars my way as soon as I turn around,

"No. Fight!" I look up to see it's the one who shielded me from the blast, armed with notably darker gray armor than the rest and a very long rifle; he's a scout as well.

Without much other choice but turn around and steady myself, I shoot with wild inaccuracy at the krogan storming the forefront of our line. Recoil wracks my hands, body, and murders the muscles in my shoulder. The thing takes anything that's thrown at it,

"Send that doomed one to the Void! CONCENTRATE FIRE!" Someone in the front commands. It must be the leader but I can't get a look at him.

Ear-shattering cannon shots go off simultaneously, bearing down on this berserking lizard creature,

It's not enough. He barrels through the smoke and primes a grenade in each hand in a frenzy of violence. _What in God's name is this thing doing? _But before I even see him reach our side I am struck with some projectile that lands square in the center of my barely protected chest- it knocks me backwards and down where I roll into one of the trenches and hit the bottom hard. I definitely felt _that _one.

The awful symphony of warfare and discord is muffled now. I am safe for the meantime, in what looks to be a fallback point with nothing but a spare weapon or two and the occasional krogan corpse. Moonlight from recently emerged twin moons guide my way while I start moving. I grab a new weapon; similar size as before but much more sleek - and then I see krogan set up on the far side of the trench. One waves me over. I make my way there to realize that it's Garrmarek, who had probably been watching me flounder this entire time. I crouch behind their battered metal cover.

Crazy lizard-man is still alive downrange, using a giant slab of metal as a shield while beating others with it. The Scout leader seems to be tracking him with his scoped rifle,

"It is a wonder your fleshiness has persisted through such glorious krogan bloodshed!"

"I'm trying."

"You honor your word," he continues, intent on his target, "It is more than most of your species can handle!" _Click. Boooooom! Booom!_ A series of well placed shots puts the krogan down once and for all. Garrmarek makes a strange growling sound that pitches upwards,

"I've been itching to put a hole through that Battle Master's skull for over twenty-three cycles now."

"A fair kill," the krogan beside him retorts, "They will break ranks soon."

And they did. Small groups of the dark armored krogan begin ceding from the pack and making for a hasty retreat, still taking potshots at our larger force. Tension knotting up my stomach begins to slowly unravel as the last remaining enemies reluctantly pull rank out towards the refuse littered wasteland. The fighting dies down. Survivors stand up.


	4. Undercurrent

I never knew how awkward or strange the ending of a battle could possibly be. Now I did.

It was as if silence itself is a sound, swooping in on the carnage to humble every survivor on the battlefield with its sobering presence. It made me realize what I had just done while I stared out at the smoldering corpses and wreckage. I fought in a battle against opponents who would pulverize me, defended myself with a couple AR's, and threw a grenade back to the enemy position like some World War II hero. Not to mention I had _aliens_ fighting on my side. But now, unsure of where I stood with this mysterious faction of reptilian bipeds, I grow very uncomfortable at the thought at what happens next. Would I be relegated to the wastes, doomed to scavenge for the rest of my twisted life, avoiding the deadly sun for eternity? Or would I join them and go wherever they are going?

There's also the pressing issue of how I got here.

I'd choose the latter any day, but the problem was how the krogan would feel about it. Something told me I was incredibly lucky for not being blown to dust when I was found- they seemed more accepting than I would think a race ought to be given its clearly warlike nature.

Everyone left alive on the smoking battlefield now came together in the center, some quickly, others clearly wounded made their way. Under the spotlights of the three remaining vehicles the krogan stared at me. Since their body language was a total mystery I had no idea what they could possibly be thinking; the only thing I sensed was uncertainty.

Krogan in differently styled garb began to emerge from the larger vessel. Two of them. They met with the leader whom I could now see quite well; the krogan gather around him- even Garrmarek. He holds the title "Overlord Kresh". I could see why: even the most torn up, battle-toughened son of a bitch here didn't look nearly as crazy as this Kresh fellow. He eyed me up and down, saying nothing, then confers with one of the ornately dressed krogan for a moment. All others, including me, braced with premonition,

_Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me…_

I was elated to hear that I am to stay with them. On their "exodus"- meaning they must have traveled for a great deal of time. How this came to be, I had not the slightest inclination. Apparently since I had "honored my word" I was deemed worthy enough to travel with them for the time being and I am granted safe passage so long as I defend the convoy. At least, that's what their so-called Shaman felt. Some of the warriors seemed visibly displeased I was tagging along, others (including the krogan I 'met' so far) are indifferent. Once they reached their destination they would decide what to do with me further. I accepted without hesitation, heaving a wheezy sigh of relief knowing that I might actually survive this whole ordeal.

My adrenaline began to drain out of me, replacing it, is pain. Tiny cuts and bruises on my skin become apparent… nothing serious.

Kresh allows me to gather my things from the cave, which includes my hat I find nearby. The ice in the cooler melted completely into water and had been leaking out for some time. I drink some and zip it up. Upon returning outside, the small army of krogan have already taken their place in the "convoy", hanging on to the outsides of the vehicles or in a protected position at the top of the large one. It keeps reminding me of the sand crawlers those pesky Jawas liked to use… shit… I wonder if I'd bump into them along the way. It'd be interesting to see the krogan's reaction.

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I'd always wanted to be the guy who rides on the back of the garbage truck in the morning, instead of going to my classes. At least in middle school I did. Not even the guy who threw all the trash into the compactor, but the one who always seemed like he was doing nothing but putting the cans back. It just looked so much more fun than learning about things I'd later realize was all simply westernized indoctrination. Ever since those days, I've wanted to ride on the side of something going really fast…

This was _not_ how I pictured it would happen.

The treaded "Crawler" I clung to zooms through the outskirts of the dystopian cityscape at over thirty miles per hour. Many more lights were on within the decrepit buildings, until at such a great distance they merged into a kaleidoscope of twisted remains and polluted colorations. Detritus covered the few accessible routes and blown out roads.

I had found a reasonably comfortable place to sit against a desultory chunk of metal extruding from the machine's hull that acted as a lopsided seat. Above it was a railing I held onto with one hand, my weapon in the other lays across my lap. The wind dried the sweat from my face.

I drank almost all the water within the first two uneventful hours of bumpy travel; this place was drier than the Mojave on a good day. Since I didn't know what the krogan drank, I could only assume it's something that would cause my intestines to rupture, so I'm left with semi-cool beer and a banana nut Clif bar, which I ate first to help absorb the alcohol. It tasted like a crunchy banana heaven, reminding me of a tropical land completely polarized from this torrid world, with blue skies and nice vistas…. but…. shouldn't I have asked how long this ride would take beforehand? I certainly hadn't paced myself…

_I guess there actually is a party at the end of the world_, I jokingly muse as I cracked a beer open and watched the sights pass by. The foam pouring out and the subtle scent of the yeast brought nostalgia of the 21st century right to me. Instantaneously I missed earth. My wonderfully sheltered life. I missed my friends, my family, Maria, the clean air… _everything_. Never thought beer would give me succinct memories that actually had vivacity to them.

Another hour later and I was on my second beer. Then my third. I started getting chatty. No one had said a word since our departure. Krogan don't like words it seemed, but I was full of potential questions.

I ask the one next to me (the same Scout who saved me from sure death) what this city is. He had no qualm answering a simple question like that, and it actually gave me the most perspective I've had since being here. It is the capital of Tuchanka. The damn capital was a destroyed pile of rubble. I realized then how tribal, warlike, and naturally aggressive this species was, this planet's apex predator, destroying each other over and over again until their version of 2012 happens, then, after they demolish everything they have- they just continue to beat the shit out of each other in their own ruin. To me it was all quite remarkable.

Being the lightweight that I was, by the end of my third tallboy I am back to drunkenness. It dulled down the edge of being on a barren alien world at least. Not to mention it quenched my thirst right. I inquire as to how they are considered Clanless if they are traveling in such a large pack. He didn't respond. Probably a touchy subject I shouldn't have even brought up, but hey, that's what inhibitions are for right? I kept pressing him, increasingly made unaware by the apathetic lull of alcohol, that he could grab my head with one hand and crack it like an egg without trying- yet I didn't seem to care.

"Does all of your kind ask such useless questions?" The Scout said flatly.

"All the time, really," I had no problem talking to him without a sober mind, "Am I the first human you've ever met?" It wasn't that he's not still big and scary… it's just… easier somehow. Could I explain it? Not right now.

He hesitated to answer,

"Yes."

"Then why are some of the others angry I'm here?"

"As krogan we thrive off of the traditional values put forth by our ancestors. Your presence here makes us weaker, and makes many warriors wary of change, even though we now seek it."

I tried to not take it too personally and deflected it with another question, as if I'm familiar with this strange future I was now a part of,

"So change is dangerous to a species like yours, but you still need it?"

"_Change_ is what doomed us in the first place-"

A krogan at the top of the crawler cut him off,

"Shut him up already, Runt! You're both talking too much," his voice was calloused and deeper.

"Dahg, I'm disappointed you haven't died yet."

I couldn't help but laugh at the perfect comeback. The krogan atop the vehicle didn't take it so lightly, though. Ignoring the friendlier krogan's remark he bent over the railing and snarled,

"Silence, whelp! If Kresh didn't forbid me force-feeding you ryncol and then shooting you, I'd have done it by now," the threat sent shivers that run through my spine, sobering me for a moment. "Ryncol" itself didn't sound like the most pleasant of things either, and this krogan was particularly nasty looking. Beady little black eyes, mottled gray skin, a Glasgow Smile scarred the sides of his wide mouth. I could see ascertainable hatred in his pupils. Tiny black holes.

"I-I- I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to offend.."

"_You_ being here is the biggest offense of all!"

"The human is not forced to abide by our rules- leave him alone."

Dahg didn't say anything- he grumbled back to his post on the other side of the Crawler.

We moved deeper and deeper into the city, facing more congested roads, digging farther into this carelessly designed urban sprawl. Distant booms and sporadic gunfire echoed with no rhyme or reason.

Eavesdropping on a conversation a krogan had over a radio led me to believe that we were linking up to a primary highway system. _Kinda wish we were just leaving the planet instead._

"But you are right about change: we need it now to save all krogan. _He_ is a prime example of why."

I was glad it was just me and him talking again, by now we were some of the only ones on the outside. I'd actually started to like him.

"Save from what?"

"Ourselves. You must know nothing about us to be asking all these questions."

There was a million ways to answer that question and I didn't know which one to pick.

"We continue to mire in the consequences of something that happened fifteen hundred years ago. Instead of adapting like we should have, we chose this," he waves his free hand out towards the endless city stretched before us, "We chose bitterness."

"What happened here?" I ask with genuine wonder.

"Heh. We split the atom is what happened. You ask all the wrong questions, human."

"Oh?"

"You should be focused on your survival, not asking things you could find on a codex."

A piece of metal kicked up by the Crawler bounced over Runt and right in my direction. Heart rate spiking again, I raised my gauntleted arm and blocked the flying debris just in time so that it wouldn't decapitate me. Whew…

Then, even more abruptly, our small convoy came under fire.

_Not again…_

"Finally! Suppress these vorcha squatters with me. May they cower before the Shreshoc!"

My adrenaline flared up, senses heightened to the now familiar war state. The intense introspection of flight-or-fight. My fist tightened around my rifle as I tried to isolate the source of the muzzle flashes: tiny figures a few stories up a large skyscraper. It was a sturdy looking building, sleek metal, very wide at the base and still relatively intact in retrospect to many of the others around us. Heavy wind picked up and cascaded fine silted sand across the broad avenue, sheathing us from their presence as well as ours.

I let my hand off the railing, used it to support the twenty pound weapon, and aimed through the clear sights- I saw nothing. The floodlights didn't reach their position. I fired anyway, single shot, along with the other krogan. The door tucked into the back of the craft squeaked open and more krogan made their appearance in full battle gear, climbing footholds on the Crawler to combat positions as the long cannon at the top primed up to fire.

This time, the vehicles didn't stop. Their weaponry covered us enough to hassle them while we kept our pace, minus the fact that the smaller one up front had a jam because of a sand buildup and couldn't fire.

Quickly enough, the miniature sandstorm waned out- we're hit with a hailstorm of potshots.

I endured as long as I had to. My teeth were clenched with worry the entire skirmish, knowing that if anyone were to die on 'our' side; it'd be me. Runt deflected a shot with his shielding and aimed his semi-auto sniper at the towering edifice, firing methodically.

"Heavy munitions! Redirect the forward battery!" Kresh bellowed to the left, hanging off the back he shot his gigantic weapon with only a single hand and ordered with the other. Meanwhile I held on for my life. Helpless to the bullets that got just a little too close.

A rocket fired by one of the enemies suddenly spiraled into view with fear-inspiring inaccuracy. It twisted and turned with a shrieking _hiss_ that made me want to hide behind the convoy like a little kid. I knew the krogan wouldn't allow desertion though, and I'd come too far to puss out. In seconds the missile corkscrewed and collided with the ground ten feet out in front of us. Our vehicle's weapons retaliate with superior firepower.

A round plinked right off the rusted metal above my head, causing me to jerk down… upon shifting in my compromised spot something then sliced my foot as I set it back down. Between being drunk and high on adrenaline I didn't feel a thing, but it still managed to instill anger in me.

_Fuck. You._

I hefted my weapon in my hands, balanced on the makeshift seating and let loose a dilugence of gunfire until I was forced to reload- by then, we were mostly clear of the enemies in the building; at its flank they had no leverage with which they could fire on us.

It looked like I'd just survived my second battle of the day.

I was spared the earth-shattering silence this time, though I trembled just as before. This was all nightmarish. And the entire planet probably looked like this- a damned hellscape. With the same clan warfare covering the entire surface. Poisoned oceans. Dead cities. This was beyond the worst nightmare conceivable, and the worst thing isn't even any of it…

It's the fact I'm living it.

Three blocks ahead and the sky began to lighten up, touched by a morning that came slightly quicker than on Earth. It instantly reminded me of sleep. Fatigue, having been present the whole time but masked by other feelings, now crept up on me with comforting thoughts of solace, droopy eyelids and fuliginous dreams.

_Surprising my adrenal fatigue hadn't hit me sooner._ I knew what to expect with it- debility and the insatiable urge to just _sleep_. I asked Runt if there was anywhere I could grab a few Z's, for medical reasons; I expected a rebuke about how I am weak or something along the lines, finding myself pleasantly surprised when no such thing happens- he merely points over me towards the trailing support vehicle. Much smaller than the Crawler I wearily held on to, it looked inviting under the dull headlights.. but then there was the idea of getting to it while going this fast, with constant bumps and impromptu weaves to avoid wreckage. A catwalk composed of little more than jagged metal fused together bridges the three vehicles, just accommodating to a krogan at the widest edges. _Well, it's either fall asleep right here, fall off and get impaled by something in the road; or walk over a deathtrap and hopefully get a few hours in._ Decisions, decisions.

Ahead of the convoy, I notice a tunnel appear that stretched as far as the eye could see. My stomach sank.

Easing myself down to a narrow strip at the bottom of the Crawler was easy enough. From there, facing out with my arms stretched for support, I shuffled my feet without crossing them and made it to the more spacious back landing. Wind whipped through my short hair. I looked through a slit of glass at the top of the bolted door that led inside: the Overlord, a "Shaman", Garrmarek, and a few other krogan cut off from view were hunched around a table in what looked to be lively debate. I wanted to just go in, but I shouldn't interrupt them, so I settled with taking a piss off the side of the deck. After I got my armor back on I set my eyes on the other vehicle.

The rudimentary bridge creaks and sways back and forth... _wait for a straightaway._

I step on… fearing for my life.

There were two ways I could die right off the bat, and many more I probably couldn't think of. Either way I didn't want to get crushed by the transport. At all. The thought of it plagued my mind on my first few steps I took, and then the whole way across, the pale purple sky emerging from the night was the only thing I had to comfort me.

_Shit shit shit shit SHIIIIIIT_.. the Crawler hit a massive bump and I went at least a foot in the air. I was screwed. I yell helplessly-

My face colliding into the metal tells me otherwise. Nearly unconscious now, I clutched the metal crossing as I frantically leapt across to the smaller craft. Sweat drenched me. Rolling off my skin like I had just climbed out of a swimming pool. I lean against the side of the transport for a moment, simply concentrated on taking in deep breaths of the capricious air. Then I climb the short ladder and slide the bulky door open with both of my hands.

The interior wasn't what I thought it would be like; it was much more cleaned up. It was actually organized, too. Eyes squinted in adjustment to the light I glanced around to find that no one was here in the washed-out green room. It _was_ a really unfashionable atmosphere, but I was impressed by a species that seemed incredibly simpler than my own. The sides were stuffed with curious alien tech; some worked, others looked rather questionable. I heard warped radio chatter, the bleeps of various machines, and at the far end could spot a set of stairs leading to darker recesses. My feet clanged on the grated floor until I took the stairs down..

My eyes feast on the sight of bedrolls sprawled out all across the floor of the cozily lit room…

and without thinking any further, I collapse into one of them, cooler strap still draped around my shoulder.

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Light.

It pours into my waking world like sparkling liquid gold into a glowing, infinite mold,

molding with my thoughts, free of flight or fancy or horizon.

I fly with a free conscious…

until the unremorseful touch of reality happens by, and tears me from my temporary cosmos of blissful ignorance. From fleeting romanticized thoughts of dawnings and beginnings.

Has the day come so soon?

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I wake with a start. At first I recoil at the bizarre sight of a towering lizard-man hovering over me, but then it all comes back to me, including my inherent hangover. _Fuck.. this really is happening.…_ I feel the heat of Tuchanka's blistering sun outside. Light from the small viewports blind me even with such miniscule amounts, my stomach churns like I ate something bad, and.. yeah- I'm still a little drunk. The krogan before me hunches down and hands me something as I lean up, and when the light catches him just right do I see that it's Scout Leader Garrmarek,

"Here, drink."

He hands me an aberrantly shaped canteen full of what I hope is water. I bring it to my lips,

_It is._ Every ounce of my body soaks up the revitalizing fluid, it's so much better than beer. I never really liked drinkable pee anyway.

"We have arrived. Gather your things, do not keep Kresh waiting."

Arrived? Where? _Shit, I probably should've asked someone where we were going. Looks like I got too drunk to ask Runt anything relevant._ Before I know it, I am alone with my thoughts again. Safe. Then a thought permeates through me, grips me frantically. I grab the cooler, turn it so the side faces me and rife through a couple side pockets when my fingers brush a familiar item. Plucking it out I hold it in the air-

My ticket. Something tells me to hang onto it for now.

I don't want to leave the Crawler, but I fear Kresh's reprisal even more, so I scratch my head, stagger to my feet and sluggishly head toward the stairs. Each step I take my cruddy armor chafes my skin.

I stuck my arm out of the door before I even looked to see where we were- the sun doesn't burn me.

_Thank god…_ it's only in the upper nineties now, like a bearable Vestal heat-wave.

Stepping out with my free hand covering my face, gun under my arm in the other, I scan my surroundings. We're in the heart of the city now, underneath a fragmented canopy of coiled metal and chunks of building. I see krogan in different colored armor stationed in nearby fortifications. Farther down, vehicles similar to the ones I traveled with are milling about, billowing black smoke and pollutants. Behind me is the rest of the convoy, with the the clanless gathered to the side of the Crawler, ready to go. My first thought is to join them.

To my horror, I'm bound at the wrists for 'my safety', citing that they have come this far and don't want a human to screw things up. They take my weapon and cooler. _But I don't even know what's going on!_ At that moment I feel tricked, betrayed, anxious, desperate, but it'd be useless to complain. I want to do some Wizard of Oz shit and tap my feet and get the hell out of dodge, except that won't be happening. I'm either about to join a bunch of humans for a krogan feast, or getting shipped off as a slave to some world that makes this look like a paradise. Either way I'd break out, grab one of their guns, and blow my brains out if that was to happen…

All I want is to run and never look back. Runt tells me that I will not be harmed- it helps. Barely.

I am led through mazes of concrete hallways, occasionally stopping to pass through armed checkpoints. Steel buttresses and structural support beams are the only things keeping these passages together from crushing everyone as we walk for what seems like hours. Krogan, all seemingly male, are gathered around fire barrels, going about their business or standing erect on guard duty. The Clanless' idle banter is drowned out by the emotions roiling inside me, a perpetual nervous lamentation that will persist until I figure out all of this crap.

But then I catch a few words amidst their discourse that gives me insight- Varduk mentions how this setup is very similar to their own. Honing my ears further I realize it without ever having to have asked-

_They're trying to join a clan. I get it now…_

I relax a little more and let tension ooze from my stiff muscles and joints, knowing now there's a solid chance for survival- they just didn't want to take their chances. Kresh creaks open a door. Sunlight filters into a tall circular room that looked to be some sort of single hangar bay, though no ships are using it, rays of permeating light reveal the thousands of dust particles aimlessly drifting in the air. We walk around the circular deck, down a small set of stairs, and through a thick metal door, emerging into a capacious room with a dimmer lambency. There's krogan everywhere, but the moment I step into the room it is as if they are all subordinate to the one I find myself fixated on. Leaned back in his throne-like chair perched atop an expansive heap of rubble is a krogan, easily as awe-inspiring as Kresh, a look of boredom clearly marks his face as two krogan in green before him yell back and forth. He holds the unmistakable aura of a leader.

As we enter in twos, I finally get a good look. _I would _not _fuck with that guy…_

The krogan, finally noticing our presence in the room, dismisses the other two and we walk closer- Kresh steps to the front of the group,

"Well look who it is," the hearty krogan says with a smooth, deep-seated voice as he eyes the crowd before him, eyes finally setting on Kresh. "Five hundred years doesn't change a whole lot, does it Naramuk."

I can see something akin of a smile nudge the Overlord's lips before grunting in reply,

"Wrex."


	5. Fading Like Photographs

Act III: Aralakh

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_He who does not change is either the greatest in the world, or is doomed to repeat the same mistakes forever._

- Excerpt from the _Lost Krogan Anthologies_, Republic of Ghurst analects 7:3, circa 78 CE.

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_2240 hours, Standard Military Time_

Shepard hadn't yet gotten used to the speed of the elevator on the Normandy SR-2,

As a matter of fact- the whole ship reminded him of a bittersweet reunion with an old friend. When he saw it for the first time, his squared jaw made room for a big smile as he stood next to the equally enamored Joker. They were wide-eyed with the thought of doing everything they had done all over again. Just under a different banner. But now, after going across half the Milky Way with it… it just wasn't the same. Cerberus' dark side followed him around the silver streaked halls wherever he went; he could feel its presence in the many empty seats dotting the overly nostalgic CIC, the empty Observation Decks, knowing that even his shower was more than likely bugged twice over. Ghosts of the past hunt him at a crossroads with ruminations about the future. They stir inside him. The result? Unwavering dedication to his crew, to stopping the Collectors, and staying on the tenuous tightrope of salvation he'd been on since he was eighteen.

The Normandy _was _an old friend; one that he was ultimately disappointed to cross paths with again…

The ghost of a good thing.

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Elevator rides are always uncomfortable, even for the man who singlehandedly stopped the invasion of the Reapers. He used the main lift over twenty times a day, sometimes alone, sometimes there were five people crammed into its confines. This time, though, it's a little more interesting than a quick bout of silence. A massive pod containing a fully grown and tank-bred krogan takes up a huge berth in the center. Whether it's alive or not is anyone's guess- it is encumbered in a blue fluid that resembles how water looks on a clear day outside. The four of them stand in the corners of the lift: turian Garrus Vakarian and Cerberus operative Jacob are up front, officer Miranda Lawson and the Commander occupy the back. Whether or not they'd want to admit it; everyone is warily conscious of the glaring capsule, for it is no myth what krogan can do in a closed-in situation. This is all too close.

Out of the small squad, Shepard is by far the least concerned. There are other things on his mind.

The elevator doors plink open and the tank is moved onto the hallway of the fourth floor. Warlord Okeer's legacy was a great marvel of genetic evolution and everything, but couldn't they just have put some damn wheels on the thing? Sitting on the Shuttle Deck helping the mechanical engineers weld a bunch of rotators to the bottom of a ticking time bomb wasn't his idea of a good way of winding down one of his most intense missions since 'joining' Cerberus, even though he knew very well he didn't have to do a thing. With his hands pressed against the back of the pod, he heaves it forward with Taylor and Garrus helping on the other side until it's finally wheeled to Port Cargo.

Much to Miranda's dismay, Shepard always did stuff like this; put himself out there and helped people do things around the ship that sometimes had nothing to do with the immediate mission. But what's a leader if they aren't on top of everything that's going on?

Krogan and stasis pod tucked away into the secure room, the crew takes the lift up to the second floor.

The Yeoman and ship's psychologist, Kelly Chambers, is the first to greet them as they step out of the elevator and onto the bustling CIC deck. It is an incredible change of pace- orange holo panels give the mostly monochrome interior some life to it with their effervescent lambency, aided by at least a dozen crewmen toiling over them doing everything from diagnostic sweeps to maintenance analytics. EDI is materialized at one of her jump terminals, guiding a group of Cerberus engineers through what looks to be a complicated bit of repair work.

"Commander!" She is shocked by his half-obliterated body armor that barely clings to his body. Most of the mesh underlay poked through the melted plating and even that was torn to shreds.

"Are you oka-"

"We're all fine Kelly." He appreciated her big heart and empathetic tendencies, but now wasn't the time.

The armory door slides open for them, they enter.

Taking off his armor, besides being a load off his shoulders, always helped him relieve stress. One of his simple pleasures ever since becoming a Spectre was knowing he completed his goal, and could now slip into his uniform, have a drink, and take some much needed R&R after an informal debrief. This time he had the feeling in his gut that it wouldn't be so easy to relax, seeing as how his Cerberus compatriots seemed a _little_ disgruntled at having an "unstable" krogan on board. On multiple occasions, he could hear Miranda voicing her concerns to Jacob how this is all a bad idea and the whole thing should've been left as a 'mission failure'. She couldn't seem to bring herself to object to Shepard though, one of her only life's works, something that she spent meticulous years on yet knew nothing about him on the inside- just how he was supposed to act, look, and think. Upon putting her weapons away and her malfunctioned pistol on a table with many others, she turns around with a terse look on her face (the kind she always has when things don't go her way) and exits the room.

But Garrus; he didn't seem to mind at all.

"So Shepard," his mandibles opened and closed as he began, taking off a silver-blue shin plate,

"How do you think this lab krogan is going to turn out?"

The Commander let a robotic arm clasp his lancer and place it neatly on a rack, facing his old friend. Having him back on his crew was the best thing that the Illusive Man had done for him aside from giving him his favorite pilot.

"I'm not sure, but we need all the help we can get. Concerns?"

"No, not really. Even though it sounds like a house in an Invictus jungle. You call the shots, I'm used to it by now, but I don't know if I should trust your judgment with you looking like _that_," he gestures at Shepard's mangled gear that he hasn't taken off yet. Cuts and small abrasions adorn his face, mingling with his faintly glowing scars.

"Come on, Garrus, I still look better than you," he smiles past his open injuries at the only turian he knew who could make an offhand joke like that.

Jacob finishes stowing his equipment away and salutes,

"We'll be in the Comms room, Commander." Shepard nods at him as he leaves in Miranda's wake.

"And you're also not the one pulling asari twins at every bar and waystation we pass through," he's visibly more relaxed when it's just him and Shepard- the Cerberus presence seems to unnerve him in the slightest.

"So that's what you were doing on that extranet terminal?"

"Basically…"

"I still look better."

"You look like you did back on Virmire. Always the krogan, bullying you like that."

Kaiden instantly surfaced to the top of his already troubled mind. It had been two and a half years since he died under his command, and he had finally been able to get past it, but anytime Alenko was brought up, so were scars bigger than the ones he had from dying, physically and mentally. He will never fully bury it.

Garrus senses Shepard's sudden flash of mood change. He ceases cleaning his weapon and looks right at him, then to the floor,

"I'm sorry, Shepard. I shouldn't have said anything…"

"It's alright. You didn't mean anything by it."

He had seemingly composed himself by then, but his mood is soured despite how unintentionally it happened. He regretted even showing emotion in the first place because it put Garrus out of his decent mood… and that's when he sees it again- that sad look. The rebellious fire once in his tiny black eyes years ago had been gone since their reunion, replaced with it is a distant austereness of self-contempt.

Shepard puts his weapons away and broken armor on the corner scrap table. What works he puts back into the armor cache,

"We should head to the Comms room."

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When they enter, most of the crew was there already engaged in debate.

"I don't like this at all, it's too dangerous."

"Yeah… you've said that a few times now," the taciturn Jacob retorts, visibly tired.

"We have no idea how it'll react. No way of knowing _anything_ until it might be too late-" Miranda stops herself the moment she sees Shepard enter the room,

"Starting without us, I see?"

"Commander, we were just having a lively _discussion_ about our krogan guest,"

"And what's the verdict?" He crosses his arms and leans against the stately table separating them.

"We feel the precautionary approach is best, but it's your show."

"Noted," he shifts his gaze, "Miranda, I can only assume you feel the same way about this?"

"Do you want my professional opinion, or my real one?"

"I didn't know there'd be a difference.. your real one."

"I don't think we should open it, or even think about it."

Shepard heaves a sigh of incredulity, wishing someone like Jack would attend these debriefings once in a while,

"Why is everyone so cautious all the time?"

"This is an incredibly sensitive and dangerous situation, Commander," Miranda follows up instantly, "it shouldn't be taken lightly," her noticeable Australian accent cuts through the air with an underlying hint of irritation.

"Isn't that what makes it interesting?" He always loved the almost tangible presence of danger; it's part of why he is where he is now and not dead since the Blitz. The walk over to the spacious Comms room allowed him to retain his enthused outlook on a potential krogan ally as powerful as his last.

The two Cerberus operatives cast each other a furtive glance, clearly disconcerted.

"Hmm," he casually walks around the edge of the table, "EDI, what can you tell me about the krogan?"

"Okeer's krogan has strong vital signs, and is in physiological homeostasis. Opening the pod would wake him from his minimally active state."

"What do you think would be the best course of action?"

"I don't actually think anything, Shepard, but very well. It would seem reasonable to come to a decision on the matter over a longer period of time. Instantly discarding a potential ally would prove unnecessary, but at the same time Ms. Lawson is correct; you will not know how it will react to you until you have released it from stasis."

"Thanks for the input." EDI's voice silently cuts out, silence fills the room,

"Dismissed."

"Well, whatever it is you decide, we'll be at your back," Jacob salutes and departs with operative Lawson. Garrus and Shepard follow suit.

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After a quick trip to the medbay, he retires to the Captain's cabin, takes a shower, and changes into his standard short-sleeved Cerberus uniform. He feels much better, but still has a lot on his mind as he checks his personal inbox. No new mail of marked importance, but somehow an obscure junkmail offering him a free Fornax subscription slipped the firewall and made it to his ship. He leaves it untouched so the Illusive Man can read it eventually.

Still standing up, Shepard grabs several things from his desk, among them a bottle of asari made Antiquaetas- an exotic blend of wine popular with humans. He walks down the two stairs to his lower half of the bedroom and sits down on the couch. Finally.

The two wine glasses in front of him have been untouched for weeks. Maybe longer… he takes one and fills it just an inch from the brim with the opalescent fluid. It splits instantly into pink with deep blue jetting through it, and then coalesces together into a robust smelling mixture.

Sipping on his drink for a moment, he sets the glass down to pick up a black picture frame on the table.

It's blank. The Commander produces a microchip from his pocket and inserts it in the side. In a brief blur of static it flickers to life, revealing a head shot of a young woman in a combat hard-suit, not wearing a helmet, shoulder length black hair tied back in military fashion. The female soldier has radiant hazel skin, full lips and endearing brown eyes that affirm an esoteric Latin-American charm. She's beautiful.

He stares at the picture in silence, still taking sips of his wine but not taking his eyes off of her.

A minute ticks by. Shepard removes the chip and the screen reverts to darkness. He sits there lamenting awhile longer, brooding over his drink until only a few drops pooled at the bottom of the glass, then gets back up, suddenly determined.

He takes the lift down to Engineering, rounds a corner, and walks unabated by hesitation or afterthought straight into Port Cargo, meeting the contained krogan head on-

It was time to make the call.

"Subject is stable, Shepard. Integration with onboard systems was seamless," EDI's voice is projected into the room from somewhere above.

"Does he see anything in there? Does he know where he is?"

"Unlikely. Current neural patterns indicate minimal cognition. Barring ship-wide power loss, the nutrients in the tank could sustain him for over a year."

"Any idea how dangerous this guy is?"

"He is a krogan, Shepard. If you are asking if he is actively hostile, I don't have the necessary data to answer. Okeer's technology could impart data, not methods of thinking. The subject may know of his views, but would not necessarily share them."

"Anything unusual? Or is he perfectly normal?"

"The subject is an excellent example of the krogan species, with fully formed primary, secondary, and tertiary organs where applicable. No defects of any kind- aside from the genetic markers of the genophage present in all krogan. I cannot judge mental functioning."

Shepard takes in a deep breath.

"Stand by, I'm going to open the tank and let him out."

"Cerberus protocol is very clear regarding untested alien technology."

"He's too valuable to leave. Do it."

"Very well, Shepard. The controls are online. The switch- and consequences- are yours."

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A/N: I struggled heavily with this chapter between writer's block and balancing the scenes properly, which is why it took as long as it did. Slowly you will start to see why I am showing these particular scenes, but I hope you have enjoyed what you've read so far! Review at your leisure.


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